Don't Call Me Tonks
by postwillows
Summary: She's proud of her family, but she's ashamed of her parents. She wants to succeed, but she doesn't want to listen. She wants to make her favorite aunt proud, but that woman happens to be in Azkaban. And don't you ever call her Tonks. Dark!Tonks AU
1. The Letter

Nymphadora Tonks is eleven years old, her hair is long and lilac today, and at the moment, she's collecting funny colored mushrooms and herbs with her cat Athena for their potion.

Or rather, she likes to _call_ Athena her cat, and it's not actually a real potion. Athena is a stray that often comes to play with Nymphadora, mostly because she bribes the little black cat with milk, but Nymphadora likes to think it's because of her charming personality. The potion is just another one of their experimental concoctions.

Andromeda Tonks had hidden the potions book from her daughter ever since the time the young witch came home with half her face covered in hideous boils.

Despite the fact that Nymphadora insisted it didn't hurt at all, that she just wanted to see if it worked, her mother seemed to know that her child had nefarious plans to use the final product on Hubert Henry Hodgkins, an obnoxious boy who lives down the road and always makes fun of the young metamorphmagus.

Ever since, Athena and Nymphadora have been on their own in regard to recipes.

The only problem now is Nymphadora has to keep waving Athena away from her basket, because Athena keeps playing with all the good mushrooms and breaking them. Nymphadora's holding the basket on top of her head as she forages in the woods when an owl comes swooping dangerously close. She ducks, spilling the whole basket all over the ground and Athena pounces, but Nymphadora doesn't even try to save her ingredients once she sees where the letter has come from.

.

She's barely torn the Hogwarts seal on the envelope open and skimmed through the scrawled lines before she's dashing around her room, trying to decide which of her favorite books she wants to take and which photographs she should leave behind. Athena is scratching at the window, but she can't be let in because Nymphadora's dad has threatened to take her straight to the Muggle animal shelter the next time he catches her inside the house.

There is still well over a month before the term actually starts, but the excitement has overwhelmed Nymphadora so much that she doesn't even consider til halfway through shoving her best robes into her trunk that she's going to have to _use_ most of these items for a good while before she actually leaves.

Fortunately, her room had already looked like this before she began packing, so it's not as if it's any worse.

While the thought should halt her, the young witch merely starts organizing her things into tidy little piles inside the trunk (and outside, and all around the floor) for easier access.

"Nymphadora!" A voice calls and suddenly Nymphadora registers that her mother has called her name several times.

She shouts back at the closed door, "Yes?"

"Come on now, it's ten past already!"

She checks the clock on the wall, and sure enough, it's ten past six and she's late to dinner. She's been in her room tossing her belongings around for over an hour and a half.

She sighs as she opens her door and trudges downstairs. Her mum and dad are already at the table waiting for her expectantly. She slides into her seat. Her dad gives her a long look and then stabs his fork into his food. Nymphadora and her mother follow suit.

"How many times do I have to tell you that we shouldn't need to call you more than once?" He says, slightly muffled by the mouthful of potatoes.

She keeps her eyes on her plate and say nothing; the chicken tastes a little burnt.

Ted Tonks is a Muggle-born wizard, and because her mother married him, Nymphadora has rarely been able to see any of her extended wizarding family members. They're allowed to spend birthdays and Christmas together, but other than that, Mr. Tonks keeps a tight watch on his wife and daughter. Doesn't want them tainted by the Black philosophy and prejudice.

Ted Tonks is also an angry man, who hits his daughter when she doesn't always flush the toilet because of the scary sounds the ghoul in the pipes likes to make, or when she forgets to turn off the wireless when she leaves the room.

She supposes that not all Muggle-borns are like her dad, but she certainly doesn't care enough to find out.

"Well? You gonna answer me?"

She looks up then and see his face turning red like it does when he gets angry. She lowers her eyes again.

"I'm sorry. I was just —"

"So are you sorry or are you gonna give me an excuse?" Silverware clatters. She doesn't look back up but she can see him lean forward out of the corner of her eye.

"I'm sorry," she says in a small voice.

Her father's voice just gets even louder, "See, I don't think you are."

Her hair subconsciously fades from soft lilac to a darker shade of violet and she swallows her next bite with difficulty. No longer hungry, she wishes she could be like those kids who get sent up to their room early without supper. She's supposed to clear off her plate before being allowed to leave the table, even when she is feeling ill or not hungry, or she gets disciplined.

"If you were really sorry, this wouldn't keep happening. Yet here we are, day after day, the same problems."

Nymphadora glances over at her mother, but she seems very interested in her salad. Nymphadora takes a bite of her own. She can't taste her food anyway, arugula can't bother her now. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Next time, I expect you to answer the first time you are called. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," she responds promptly.

Her father is seemingly satisfied by her compliance and the table falls uncomfortably quiet. She tries to keep her silverware clinking against her plate to a minimum, but everything seems amplified in the little dining room.

"Your mother says you got accepted into Hogwarts today," her dad says finally, breaking the silence after a few minutes.

She briefly recalls having shouted "I got my letter! I got my letter!" earlier as she had torn up the stairs to her room when she returned from the woods.

She nods, having just shoved a forkful of chicken and potatoes and lettuce into her mouth. As hungry as she is not, she really wants to finish her food quickly.

"Well, let's hope you're a little more receptive to the teaching there than you are at home, eh?"

She feels her face grow hot and her stomach turns uneasily.

"Ted," her mother finally speaks imploringly but she's suddenly cut off.

"No, don't _Ted_ me, Andromeda. You know well as I do that no school, magic or not, can do anything for a kid that's stubborn and refuses to listen." He tears a bite of steak off from his fork and jabs his knife angrily, pointing it in Nymphadora's direction, "You don't wanna listen to what we tell you here at home, you think you're gonna wanna listen to a bunch of old codgers tellin' ya how to turn a pot of dirt and water into magic soup?"

It takes everything in her not to snap back that first of all, it doesn't work that way, and secondly, yes, as a matter of fact, she _would_ rather listen to some old codgers over an angry middle aged man who still doesn't know how to finish chewing his own food before speaking.

Instead, she glues her eyes to her plate, counting the pieces of chicken that she has left as she fights back the burning sting in her eyes, pushing her potatoes and chicken around and mashing them together while her insides burn white hot with anger and frustration.

"I'll tell ya what," he goes on, pausing to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, "if you can make it even one year without dropping out or getting expelled, I'll be so impressed, I'll buy you your own broomstick."

Nymphadora looks up and feels her hair tingling a tad brighter again. Her dad notices, but he only smirks, leaning forward once more on his elbows and saying, "That's how much I know you ain't gonna make it. Now finish your food."

She does. But she throws it all up in the toilet later.

She flushes.


	2. Ollivander's

The late August air is filled with dancing sunlight, chirping birds, and rustling robes as Nymphadora and her mother make their way through Diagon Alley early Saturday morning.

"You are to stay by my side at all times," her mother says sternly, well aware of how accident prone her daughter is and wanting to walk out of Diagon Alley today with as few bruises and newly acquired broken objects as possible ( _Reparo_ doesn't work on everything).

Her mother, organized and efficient as ever, has all of their stops outlined in the quickest route to beat the rush that is sure to hit soon; Diagon Alley is always a bustle of activity, especially during the weekend.

"Most of your required textbooks haven't changed since your father and I were in school, so you can use some of those," Andromeda is saying as she all but drags her daughter down the cobbled street. Meanwhile, the curious child, today with curly blonde locks falling just past her shoulders, keeps craning her neck to catch a glimpse of windows to the many shops she won't be stopping in today. It's mostly a blur of colors and sounds and smells but Nymphadora soaks it all in. They don't come to Diagon Alley often, but when they do, she feels like she can never get enough.

They pass by the broom shop, where a sleek and shiny racing broom is on prominent display. Even as they rush past, Nymphadora catches the words "Nimbus 1001" engraved on the display plaque just below it.

She recalls the words of her father just two nights ago. He said he'd buy her a broomstick if she managed to make it to the end of her first year at Hogwarts. Not for the first time, Nymphadora wonders how truly difficult school will be. She's only ever imagined wonderful things about it, but recently she's begun to realize that she doesn't actually _know_ that much about Hogwarts at all. She's only got a handful of stories from her parents, and about three articles from old magazines in the house that suddenly seemed insufficient, no matter how many times she's reread them in the past day. She knows about the Houses of course, knows her mum was in Slytherin and her dad in Hufflepuff. She hopes with all that is in her that whatever House she ends up in, it's not Hufflepuff.

Finally, they're stopping in front of a shop that Nymphodora has been longing to enter ever since she first laid eyes on it five years ago: Ollivander's.

They enter, and there is an old man seated behind the counter who can only be Mr. Ollivander. He looks up from the morning paper to set his pale eyes on Nymphadora. She shrinks back a little, feeling almost as though he can see straight into her immediately. It makes her a bit uncomfortable, but also the strangest bit safe; this is the man that's going to match her with the perfect wand. It's his job to see through people like that.

Aunty Bella had once said that wands weren't just tools or instruments, that they were at their best an extension of the witch or wizard, an extra appendage that needs to learned and understood and practiced, like a muscle that needs exercise to help bring someone to their fullest potential. And you can't just chop off someone else's arm and attach it to yourself and expect to be able to use it easily or effectively or at all. It's not a one size fits all sort of thing, it's a very, very individualized and tailor made piece of a witch's existence.

And suddenly, she's nearly paralyzed with excitement. Nymphadora is here to find the perfect wand for herself, and together they will grow so she can become one of the best witches that Hogwarts has ever seen. And she's gonna get that Nimbus 1001.

Mr. Ollivander approaches her, his gaze studying her unnervingly, does a little hmm-ing and hah-ing, circles a bit, and walks away. Her face scrunches a little in confusion, turning to her mother in a silent question, but before either of them can say anything, Mr. Ollivander returns holding a long box. He opens it, peers inside, peers at Nymphadora, peers inside again, then promptly snaps it shut and walks back into a little aisle. He returns once more with a different box. He comes to stand before Nymphadora and looks at her with a raised eyebrow, then opens the box.

"So, Miss Nymphadora Tonks is it?" He draws the wand gently from its case.

"Just Nymphadora is fine, sir." She's not proud of being a Tonks at all, and generally prefers not to be reminded it's a part of her name.

Mr. Ollivander peers down at her as she peers up at the wand. "Not much like either of your parents are you, hm?" He asks, apparently not minding that Nymphadora's mother is standing right there.

She thinks about that one for a moment. She's definitely not her father. He's a grump on his good days and a bully on his bad ones. She thinks about her mother. Her aunts say she used to be strong willed and determined, but all Nymphadora sees is a woman who only ever agrees with her husband and never stands up for herself—or her daughter. "I don't think so, Mr. Ollivander." Nymphadora says with resolve.

He looks hard at her one more moment. "Very well."

He places the wand back in the box and snaps it shut without ever letting her even touch it. She watches nervously, with mixed impatience and anticipation, as the old wizard once again shuffles away.

There's the sound of wand boxes being moved around as if he can't find what he's looking for, or it's buried behind a great many others. When he finally returns, he's carrying a very dusty box that simultaneously appears untouched and ancient. The moment he opens it, Nymphadora feels a tingling at the tips of her ears and fingers.

He hands her a dark brown wand, which fits easily in her grip.

"Cedar wood and phoenix feather core, twelve inches. I've had it for a very long time, but it's never found a suitable owner. Perhaps today it will finally choose? Give it a wave."

Before Nympadora can even complete a full arc, a gust of wind whirls around her, engulfing her and lifting her clear off the ground before it's gone and she tumbles gracelessly onto her knees.

"Interesting indeed, Miss Nymphadora. I'll expect to be hearing great things from you in the years to come," Mr. Ollivander says with a tilted head and a curious gaze.

She stands up, dusts off her robes, and grins.


	3. Flourish and Blotts

Nymphadora finally gets a break when her mother has to run to Gringotts.

She'd whined and begged to be left at Flourish and Blotts while her mother goes, because the bank is pretty, but it's just so _boring_. They always have to wait on line and then the ride to their vault is so disappointing because it only lasts sixteen seconds (yes, she's timed it), and it always leaves her feeling so unfulfilled. Maybe when she gets her own vault, she can request it be at the very very bottommost depths, then _maybe_ the bank might be fun.

As it is, she's inside Flourish and Blotts, combing through shelves and stacks upon stacks of books, looking for the perfect book to take home that she can afford with her few Sickles and Knuts saved up from her allowance (she's currently got five in her arms so far to choose from; the pile keeps growing). She's not allowed to leave the bookstore at all, or else next year her mother will do all her school shopping for her and she'll have to stay home.

Her mother _always_ remembers, too.

It's not like it's a bad thing at all though, being stuck in the bookstore. Nymphadora could probably live here. She loves to read. She must've read all the books in the house ten times each, even the most boring ones. Even the 105th edition of Wungerblunger's Illustrated Dictionary. Even the Omniocular user's manual. But that's mostly since her dad doesn't like her to read too many fiction books, claiming they're filled with nonsense and too unrealistic.

He also says her mother's family is wicked and intolerant and always hates when Nymphadora and her mother go to visit them, always drilling her with questions afterwards and asking what sort of brainwashing they tried to spoon-feed her this time. (She's only ever found her mum's family to be genuinely kind with them, if only a bit sour towards her mum whenever the topic of her dad or Muggles come up.)

Mr. Tonks says a lot of things.

She's tucking an eighth book underneath her arm and rounding the corner to the other side of a shelf when all of a sudden she trips over her robes and then she's taking the entire store down with her in a cacophony of crashes and thudding books.

"Oh no, no, no, no," she whispers, horrified, as the reality of what she's done and what her mum is going to have to bail her out of sinks in. A massive hourglass lays broken in front of her, shimmering sand pouring out, along with what looks to be tiny little lights flying out in every which direction.

She doesn't think _Reparo_ is going to work on this one, either.

"Well, I certainly hope you're going to pay for that," an extremely cross witch is standing with her hands on her hips and frowning down on Nymphadora severely. The girl shrinks back and feels tears beginning to prick at the corners of her eyes. "And this is why we don't let horrid children run amok in here unattended, this isn't a playground, it is a book shop, and you're going to have to pay for that Wishcatcher you just broke, you klutz! Where are your parents?"

"The aunt of that _klutz_ you are speaking to so rudely is right here," a woman's voice drawls. Nymphadora's head snaps up to find a tall, blonde woman striding over. Immediately, all of her fears dissipate.

Narcissa Malfoy always has impeccable timing.

The mean, cross witch suddenly bends to help Nymphadora up and begins stammering apologies, "Lady Malfoy! I am so sorry, I had no idea, had I known, it's fine really, was just going to help the child up after a short lecture, my fault, meant no harm, honestly," but Nymphadora's aunt simply waves her off with a flit of her hand and a glare.

"Doubt that trinket even cost more than a galleon. This place has become overrun with overpriced and useless collectables. 'Wishcatcher,' _please_ ," she scoffs as she places a protective arm around her niece and guides her away from the still bumbling bookshop witch. Tears have started flowing freely down Nymphadora's face, but now more from relief than shame. Several thoughts assault her mind at once: she has such incredibly good fortune that her aunt was right there to rescue her, she's very happy to see her Aunt Cissy even under these terribly awkward circumstances, that awfully mean witch got put in her place, and Nyphadora really, really wanted that _Curious but True Tales of Witches and Wizards Who Inspired Muggle Mythology_ book.

As if reading her thoughts, Aunt Cissy says, "There are much better books, my dear. We have a whole library at the Manor; don't waste your time on that Muggle glorifying drivel."

They reach the outside of the shop when Aunt Cissy stops walking suddenly and turns and leans down slightly to face Nymphadora. She looks about to say something but whatever it is gets silenced when Nymphadora launches herself into her aunt's arms in the fiercest hug she can muster. "Thank you, thank you," she muffles into her aunt's shoulder. "I've missed you so much, Aunty Cissy."

Nymphadora's not totally certain her aunt can hear everything she's saying because it's mixed with tears and mouthfuls of robe. It seems like she gets the idea though, because she hugs the little girl back tight. "I've missed you too, little one," she says gently, calling her by a nickname that only she and Aunty Bella ever used for her.

Nymphadora feels something heavy fall into her pocket. Her aunt draws back then and gives a little wink. "Do make sure you stop by and visit the Manor before you go off to school, hmm? If only to borrow some books."

And then she's up and disappearing into the crowd of people now thronging through Diagon Alley.

Nymphadora patiently waits for her mother outside of Flourish and Blotts while clutching the little parcel in her pocket, not trusting herself to open it here. She's never been so ready to go home.


End file.
